


Just Don't Let Go Or You May Drown

by PanBoleyn



Series: Made Our Way By Finding What Was Real [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Military!Mike, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grammy dies when Mike is seventeen, sending him on a very different course in life. The plan is the Air Force Academy, five years in the service, then law school, but life has a way of messing with plans - and of getting you exactly where you were meant to be, regardless of your choices.</p><p>Chapter 2: Mike's early days at the Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eighteen and Out

**Author's Note:**

> So this is part one of probably four - the second fic also goes up tonight. I've been wanting to do both military!Mike and actual!lawyer!Mike for a while, so I decided just to combine them.

It's the worst week of Mike's life, even before... Well. The fact is, the week starts bad and gets worse.

 

He and Trevor have been exploring the joys of pot for a few months now. Mike isn't sure what Trevor likes about it, but for Mike, it's the best way he's found to quiet the constant buzz in his head. The trouble is, the pot lowers his inhibitions. Not good for a guy with a crush on his best friend.

 

So far it's just been hugs, cuddling, falling asleep in a puppy pile. All things that can get written off as the pot making them overly tactile. But this time, Mike kisses him. Kisses Trevor like part of him has wanted to since he was eleven, the geeky new kid only Trevor liked.

 

And in the moment, Trevor kisses him back, lazy and slow. But when the pot wears off, Trevor... He doesn't say anything, but he watches Mike suspiciously. He jumps if Mike so much as brushes against him. It's _awful_.

 

Gram can tell something's wrong, but Mike can't bring himself to talk about it yet. He hasn't even told her he likes guys as much as girls yet. He's so caught up that he barely notices that she seems more tired than usual. All he can think about is one more day with Trevor acting like he thinks Mike might jump him.

 

So he's not expecting it when he gets called down to the office during fourth period Spanish. He knows it's bad, though, when he sees the principal's expression.  He knows that look all too well.

 

_No. Please no._

 

Mike barely hears the principal explaining that Gram had a heart attack, or that the man in the corner of her office is a caseworker from Social Services, here to take Mike home to pack his things. He should ask where they’re taking him, but he can’t find the words. All Mike’s life, as long as he can remember, words have been his stock in trade. Talking, reading, writing, words are what he does. But he can’t find them now. Not a single one.

 

All he can think is how alone he is. Because Trevor's all but gone, and Gram is... is... Oh God, what is he going to do?

 

***

 

Mike doesn't remember much of the next few days, despite his usually perfect memory. Just flashes, moments. Watching Gram's coffin being covered in dirt, Trevor outside the funeral home promising they're just how they've always been, being shown to the room he shares with two other boys in the foster home the caseworker brought him to.

 

It feels like he comes back to himself lying in that narrow bed, a week after everything falls apart. Nick, in the bed by the door, is tossing and turning. He has nightmares all the time. Paul isn't even there; he sneaks out every night. The foster parents don't care; Nina in the girls' room told Mike they only do this for the paycheck, and as long as no one's dumb enough to get arrested they can do what they like.

 

Mike lies there and stares at the ceiling, until the burning in his eyes and the lump in his throat overwhelms him, and he rolls over to press his face into his pillow. His sobs are muffled, but even so, when he's finally cried himself out he actually feels a little better.

 

The next day, he goes back to school. With only a month left before summer, and only one year after that, it's agreed that Mike can stay where he is. It's just a subway ride away, and he figures it's probably less paperwork for his caseworker. So he goes back to school like nothing's changed. And for everyone else, it hasn't. A couple of his teachers pull him aside to ask how he is, but that's all.

 

As for Trevor, despite what he said at the funeral, it's almost as bad as before. Trevor looks at Mike so helplessly, like he has no clue what to say. So he slips him joints instead, and Mike takes them because life is easier, hurts less, when he's living through a haze.

 

***

 

Summer comes, and Mike goes directly to Trevor's source, a coffee cart guy in Midtown, because spending time with Trevor hurts too much. He lets the days pass, distracting himself with pot and towers of library books. He finds _A Game of Thrones_ and its sequel that summer; there's something oddly comforting about losing himself to a world where everyone is as unhappy as he is. More, really.

 

"You're an idiot," Nick says one afternoon. He's sprawled on his bed just like Mike, comic books and sketchbooks scattered around him. Nick draws comics; Mike figures they're okay as comics go. But now he's not drawing; he's glaring at Mike.

 

Mike blinks lazily at him, slowly pulling his mind away from Tyrion checking out wildfire stores. The pot makes it easier not to be offended, so he just asks, "Why am I an idiot?" No big deal.

 

"I heard your caseworker. You're some kinda genius, right?"

 

Mike shrugs. Maybe. What's it matter now, he thinks, and only realizes he's said it aloud when Nick scoffs.

 

"You heard Nina and Gabby talking about eighteen and out, right? Eighteen and you've gotta take care of yourself. But you, you're smart. You could get money, go to college, and really get out of here before you even see much. Trust me, it gets a lot worse than these guys. Me? I'm eighteen in two months and I'm joining the Army. All I've got. You've got so much more, if you quit smoking up all the time."

 

"My dad was in the Army," Mike says, not sure why. "There's no point, Nick. What's the point if no one's left?"

 

"Your family would want you to give up? Be some pothead loser? I know my mom wouldn't, so I'm not gonna let myself fuck up like that." Nick huffs. "You do what you want, bookworm." He goes back to drawing, and Mike tries to go back to reading, but he can't.

 

He'd just assumed this was it. He'd wanted to be a lawyer, but how was he going to do that on his own? He couldn't stand thinking about it, is the real truth. But now he can't stop. And there's - James Ross was a good man, but he had nothing in common with his son except the color of their eyes. Mike never felt like his dad was proud of him. But maybe....

 

Nick bringing up the Army reminds Mike that his dad went to West Point. Maybe Mike can... But no. He's nothing like his dad; he can't imagine joining the same branch of the military. His dad would have loved to see his son in uniform, but no.

 

Then it occurs to him. Why not a different branch? Nick has the right idea; the military is a good choice when your options are limited, and maybe he can get scholarship money but the odds of getting enough are slim to none.

 

But not the Army. It just doesn't feel right.

 

***

 

The next time Mike goes to the library, he doesn't spend his time reading history, sci-fi, or fantasy. Instead he goes to the computers and starts researching the military academies. He can enlist, he knows, but he likes the idea of doing what his dad did, if in a different way. And his mom always said to aim for the top. Grammy's the one who reminded him always to have a backup plan, but it's still too hard to think of her much. His parents, well, that's an old hurt. Never easy, but familiar.

 

He notices that the Air Force offers programs to send people to law school. One they pay for, one the person pays for. Also, the Air Force Academy has a Legal Studies major. He still wants to be a lawyer one day. And, possibly the most appealing, the Air Force Academy is all the way out in Colorado.

 

Mike's always loved New York. It's the only real hometown he's ever known; he was born in South Carolina when his dad was stationed there, but they left before he was two. He remembers each base they lived on after that, from Maryland to Stuttgart (yeah, they were in Germany for nearly a year when he was seven) and all the rest, but none of them were a hometown the way New York has been.

 

It's just that the city doesn't feel right without Grammy. Mike's sure he'll want to come back, but for now he thinks he needs somewhere new.

 

So the Air Force then.

 

After he makes that decision, the rest is easy. He's behind on the application process, but not too badly; seems most people start before junior year ends. He needs good grades, which he has, citizenship, which, obviously he also has. Be of good moral character... Well, he doesn't go to school high, he's never been caught with a joint. Aside from the pot he's squeaky clean anyway, unless a few pranks count against him. They weren't at school, at least.

 

He needs a nomination from a member of Congress. From what he can tell, being the son of a career military officer will help him, different branch or no. But he'd better get to work finding out who represents his area and writing letters. He figures he can tell the truth; he doesn't want to fall through the cracks in the system. He wants to be a productive member of society and how better than to serve his country? That last is laying it on a little thick; he's being practical rather than idealistic in his choices. But that he can't say outright.

 

Then there's the physical. He thinks he can just go to a free clinic, but either way he'd better hold off on that. Wait for the last of the pot to be clear. Also, it gives him time to get in even better shape.

 

Wrestling means he's not out of shape, but Mike figures he can get into better shape, so he takes to running. And when he runs, he finds that, at a certain point, his mind, always whirring, stops. There's nothing but his breath, the ground under his feet, music if he has his Walkman. His awareness narrows to that and nothing else, and it's like a miracle. It's better than the pot, it's better than anything.

 

He starts running to get into better shape, but he keeps it up, joins the outdoor track team when school starts up again (indoor clashes with wrestling) because he loves it. He's a middle distance runner, and each time he's on the track, everything falls away.

 

There's nothing else like it.

 

***

 

He gets his nomination. Mike had almost given up on it, but then he gets it. He gets it, and then he sends in all the paperwork, and he gets accepted to the Academy in April. When he gets the letter, he spares a thought for Nick, who must be through basic by now. He owes him, big time.

 

And then there's Trevor. They've been weird this year, especially since Mike doesn't smoke up anymore and Trevor's progressed from weekends to getting high in the bathroom in the middle of the day sometimes. And there's still a lingering awkwardness, part Trevor not knowing how to talk to him and part Mike still being embarrassed over his unrequited crush. That crush isn't as strong as it was, but it stubbornly refuses to go away completely.

 

Of course, now he's got Don't Ask, Don't Tell to think about. So maybe it's a good thing Trevor doesn't feel the same way.

 

Yeah. Maybe.

 

Still, Trevor comes with him to the Greyhound terminal, so that's something. Mike shoves his duffle bag into the luggage compartment and shoulders his backpack before turning to Trevor.

 

"I'll write when I can," Mike says with a tight smile. Trevor's own smile is lopsided.

 

"You can crash with me, if you wanna come back. I mean, you know that, right?"

 

"Yeah, Trev, I know." They don't hug - things are still too off for that - but they fistbump, and then Trevor steps back and Mike gets on the bus. He watches the New York skyline as it gets further away, and all he can think is _Eighteen and out, and I got out_.

 


	2. Ickle Firsties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Academy life isn't quite what Mike expected, but he can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after many failed attempts to make this a story with a few long chapters, I gave up and decided it works best as another snippet series - though I will try to keep this one mostly chronological.

They call the six weeks of Basic Cadet Training 'beast' and the name is deserved. Protocol, etiquette, physical training, three of the six weeks out in the field... Mike has a leg up in the memorization parts of it all, especially when something is written down. He gets in the habit of writing as much as he remembers whenever he can. Being able to reread it helps him all the more.

It doesn't ease up when they finish and get their first shoulder boards, becoming fourth-class cadets. There's more physical training, more information to learn, both in classes and relating to the military or Academy. Mike has never been more grateful for his eidetic memory in his life.

Having to address older cadets with very specific protocol is tedious but not too bad. At least it's not hazing, it's good practice for dealing with superior officers. But the bit about only walking on certain, pre-ordered paths? That's kind of insane.

But actually, insanity aside, he likes it. There’s something in knowing exactly what he has to do that appeals to Mike. He spends too much time questioning and wondering when left to his own devices. Which isn’t to say that he’s into blind obedience, but the structure of it all is somehow refreshing.

It’s safe. He knows what to do, when to do it, and as long as he does it right, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s almost as soothing as running.

Mike meets Anya Turner properly when they're both on the track, practicing for intramural competitions. She's in his flight, but while he's seen her in passing and knows her name from the military history class they share, they've never spoken.

He all but forgets her as he runs, losing himself to the slap of his feet against the ground, the sound of his breathing. But when he does have to stop, she's still there. "I'm guessing not a sprinter?" she calls.

"Nope, I prefer distance," Mike says, jogging over to her. "I'm Mike-"

"Michael Ross, resident wunderkind. You were way too good at the information part of beast for comfort. I'm - "

"Anya Turner, who has very interesting takes on military history," Mike says. "It's Mike, by the way."

"Mike then. So, what are you studying? I know we don’t do much outside of core yet, but still," Anya asks as they walk back toward the dorm area, careful to stay on the proper paths.

“Legal Studies, you?”

“Political science.”

Mike nods. “We’ll probably meet up again, then - cadets in my program take courses in others, including political science. I was thinking of going more toward foreign languages, maybe take something Middle Eastern. I was talking to an advisor, he thinks that’d be useful.”

"Yeah, it's not Russia anymore. Pity, really, I'm fluent," Anya says, voice very dry.

"You're Russian?"

"First-generation American, actually. My mother left St. Petersburg maybe five years before I was born. Not exactly sure; Katya and I haven't spoken more than necessary since I was eleven or so."

Mike stares at her, not exactly sure how to respond to the offhand way Anya Turner talks about something personal like that. She grins at him. "Sorry, too blunt? She's a musician, and not really interested in anything but her music."

"Still, she's your mom, your family. Not everyone has that," Mike says in spite of himself. This is possibly the strangest first conversation he's ever had, but somehow he doesn't mind.

Anya looks at him almost guiltily. "Oh, hell. Is your mother -?"

"My parents and grandmother, actually. All my family." Mike tries to be as offhand as Anya, but he's not good at it. Because for all he fought with his dad, he loved him, and he loved his mother and grandmother just as much.

Anya shakes her head. “My God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“No, it’s fine,” Mike says quickly, because it is, really. She had no way of knowing, he wouldn’t have expected her to know. They’ve just met, after all.

"Still, sorry about that."

"It's cool."

That conversation is the first, but definitely not the last. Fourth-class cadets don't have much in the way of free time - and what there is, is restricted - but Mike and Anya manage to find ways to talk. She’s from Los Angeles, though she spent a good bit of her summers when she was younger being dragged around the country with her mother’s band. Then her mother left her for a week-long trip to San Francisco… and never came home.

Two kids who’ve both seen foster care, who are here because it’s the best way out. Is it any wonder they click? And that summer, they find an apartment in the city because neither of them want to go home. Because neither of them really have a home now.

 


End file.
